Stop the Presses
by Captain Arianna Trouble
Summary: You are not a military man, Mr. Turner. What happens if events make him one? Temp hiatus, see profile
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am not part of the Disney corporation.

Historical Note: Press gangs were paid by ship captains to capture male British citizens to serve on His Majesties Ships. The men were enlisted into the Navy and forced to serve the Crown. This was common in former times for a group of military personnel with the job to find people to force into military service.

Chapter 1

Will Turner walked the streets of London with uncertainty. In the years since he had left, everything had changed. He had foolishly set out in order to find his old neighborhood. The plan wasn't going that well. At the moment, he was wondering if perhaps he should have gone to Elizabeth's sewing circle.

He grinned at the memory of receiving the invitation. After being in London for only a week, Elizabeth, being a Governor's daughter, was forced to attend many social functions. Usually, Will had to escort her, but the sewing circle was for women only. She had been disappointed, he had been relieved. Every time they went out, he would get odd looks. A woman, highly regarded in society, married to a common blacksmith?

Again, he looked around, trying to gain his bearings. A fog was rolling in, and Will couldn't see Big Ben. He couldn't even see five feet in front of him. He had forgotten what the weather had been like. Port Royal was always lovely. He felt a bit of homesickness. Ever since his arrival there, he had felt at home. Sure, it was due partly to Elizabeth being there, but he had never wanted to return to London if he could help it. It was always so dangerous.

Speaking of which, the sun was setting. Will decided to retrace his steps and get back to where they were staying. London was not pleasant at night. Especially if you were alone. At dark, the tavern and brothel doors were thrown open. The streets were very bad for an unescorted woman, but a lone man was still in danger. If man was going out, he brought a close group of friends with him.

Less men were joining the British Navy, causing more men to employ themselves into press gangs. The gangs easily overpowered men, bound them, and sold them to the highest bidding captain. It was all legal because it was for the military. But so were indentured servants and slaves. Legality didn't make it right. And with the French acting up again, there could be war quite soon. Kidnapping men and sending them to fight and die.

After a good half an hour, Will decided that he was officially lost. By now Elizabeth was back at the inn. Hopefully she wouldn't worry. He spied a group of men lying around on a porch. After a moment, he decided to ask them directions.

"Excuse me, but would you tell my the directions to the Harbor Inn?" The men were instantly alert, inspecting the new arrival. Will felt like a slab of meat at the butcher shop, he was under such scrutiny.

"You not from England?" one asked, his deep voice rough. The man had a short and stubbly beard with a dirty face. A window opened above the men's heads, and someone dumped out a chamber pot. It missed the speaker by inches. But the man didn't seem to notice.

"I am originally, put I've been living in Port Royal. The city has changed a lot since I left," Will said, trying to be polite and not gag on the stench.

"Aye, it has. What be your profession?" Another man, dirtier than the first, asked.

"I'm a blacksmith," he ventured cautiously. Something wasn't right. The men were glancing at each other and nodding.

"You ever consider serving your country?" That's when they jumped him.

Alright, I know it's short. Please tell me what you think! I value the opinions of my readers, so have at it.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. Nor do I own the British Navy.

Is it true we're not allowed to personally respond to reviews? If so grr. If not

To Jackeroe: Long live Bloody Jack! (That's where you got your name, right?)

Chapter 2

The next moments passed like a blur. Will was greatly outnumbered, and press gangs were known for their rough fighting. He had never even drawn his sword. Some of the group had been hiding in the opposite alley, and the moment he had headed over to the group, they snuck up on him. But even without his sword he managed a few good blows. The confrontation ended quickly and Will was tied like a pig and tossed unceremoniously into a cart. There were already two other men there.

Both seemed to be asleep when he was dragged over, but one man opened his eyes. Will studied his fellow victims. The two were gagged and tied, and after a moment he felt rough hands gagging his own mouth. He prayed that it was just clothe and not knickers or a sock. Some of it was over his nose, and he could see it was just clothe.

The awake man had fair hair that went to his chin. His eyes were an ocean blue and ever alert. Except for a dark smudge on the side of his face, it was a handsome man. Unlike the ruffians that captured them, he was very clean and his clothes were sharp, but were a bit tousled from his encounter with the gang.

The other man was not so fortunate. His clothes were very dirty and torn. A few places had patches His hair was a filthy, scraggily mop that was receding from his hairline. For a moment it looked like there was dirt in it, but then Will realized it was caked on blood.

There was a jolt and Will heard a grinding. The cart was moving. Perhaps the press gang wanted to move closer to where there were a few taverns. It was easier to capture a man already incapacitated by alcohol than it was to capture a fit sober man. Will looked at the man with the blue eyes. The man shrugged and fell asleep. Will tried, and eventually the cart's steady movements lulled him.

After a short time Will was abruptly awakened by a big man being thrown on top of him. It had been hard enough for him to breath with the gag in his mouth and over his nose, but now it was really hard to breath. There was a jolt as what had to have been another body was tossed in as well. It felt as if his lungs were being crushed. He closed his eyes while trying to steady his breath, and when he opened them there was a shock of red hair in front of him.

"These five'll do," a voice said. Will instantly knew it was the man who had been asking him all the questions earlier.

"You sure? Maybe we should get one more, cause the Irish bloke don't look too good. You hafta hit 'im so hard?"

"Yes, he fought like the Devil himself. Besides, we got a swordfighter an' a blacksmith. People like that are gems. They be strong blokes, every one of 'em. Might get ourselves a bit of a something extra for them."

"But five ain't our best haul. We had seven that one time…"

"Shut up you slack-jawed idiot! If we don't hurry we'll be late. Now, you boys stay here and…" Will listened to them talk for a while longer, but fatigue took over and he slept. When he awoke again he felt the bobbing of the sea. They were on their way to a ship instead of a dock. Will had hoped that if they were delivered to a docked ship escape would be easier. There was no way he could escape swimming, especially because it was dark. The English Channel was unforgiving.

Because of the man on top of him, Will didn't see the ship looming a few yards away. He didn't see the group of men huddled beneath a cloud of lanterns leer at the boat or throw down a line. The first thing he saw on the HMS _Dragonfly _was the deck as he was tossed on it like a fish. The next thing he saw was the bum of another man being thrown on top of him. For the second time in so many hours he lost his breath.

Thankfully the man was hauled up by some midshipmen and his gag removed. The men hauled him over to what was most likely the captain. The leader of the gang went with them, negotiating a price.

"What's your name?"

"Benjamin Seymour." Just from his voice it was easy to tell that the man wasn't completely conscious. Either that or he was still drunk.

"Benjamin Seymour, _sir_," the captain corrected. "I am Captain Moyer, and you'll be doing as I say from now on. Put him in the books as Able-bodied Seaman, Mr. Dane."

A small man bobbed at the captain's side, and he began scribbling furiously into his log. When he was finished he looked expectantly at Moyer, awaiting the next man. The Irish man was brought over. He was in a better state of mind than his friend.

"Name?"

"Gregory Fredrick, _sir_," he sneered. From those three words rang a fine Irish accent. He seemed like a man that if you met, you'd remember.

"You're a bit thin. How 'bout a Foretopman Mr. Dane? Didn't we lose one a while back?"

"Aye sir," Mr. Dane said. He hovered near the captain like a puppy dog awaiting a bone. Gregory was taken away and joined Benjamin by a Marine. The two started talking in low whispers until the Marine hissed something at them and rested a hand on his sword.

The next man brought over was the one with the blue eyes. The press gang leader started talking at the sight of him.

"He claims to be an expert swordfighter. I figure he should be worth a bit more than the others," the dirty man said in gravely tones. His eyes kept shifting around the deck, as if afraid that there was no good going on.

"Alright Master Swordsman, what's your name?" Captain Moyer asked in an amused voice. He doubted that the gang member was telling the truth, and for good reason. Many slave traders tried to give their 'goods' more skills for better prices.

"Joshua Clark," he replied in a quiet voice. "And I am an expert swordsman."

"Prove it," the captain said calmly. "That one has a sword, fight him."

It took Will a moment to realize they were talking about him. Two men lifted him and untied him while the gang man started to protest.

"I was about to get to him. He's a blacksmith. I want more for 'im as well," the man whined.

"Robert, I want them to prove it. If you keep pestering me, I might not take either."

Joshua was given a sword from a Marine, and he started looking it over. From where he was standing, Will could tell the quality was poor. The sword he had on him was a nice one he had constructed himself. It wouldn't bejust tofight anyone unfamiliar to their sword.

"Excuse me, Captain, but this isn't a fair fight," Will called over the deck.

"And why is that?" Moyer asked in a bored voice. "Do you know him to be a sword fighter?"

"No, but I have made and fought with many swords myself. The blade that was given to him is unbalanced and it top-heavy. If struck in the right spot, the blade would come off the hilt."

The captain considered this, and took Joshua's sword. He looked it over and then whacked it onto the deck. Just as he had said, Will saw it come apart.

"Robert, I will not pay extra for Mr. Clark. If he had been a sword fighter, he would have known the sword was a poor quality. When you met him, he most likely lied to scare you off. Not many people want to fight with a trained enemy. But I'll still take him," he waved a dismissive hand as Robert opened his mouth to say something. "Mr. Dane, Able-bodied seaman.

"And you, what is your name?" Moyer was looking at Will, and for a moment he seemed shocked with recognition.

"Will Turner." The captain froze, his eyes wide. There was some murmuring on the deck from the oldest sailors. "The Second," he added shyly. Although he heard he looked like his pirate father, he didn't want to be mistaken for him on a ship of Navy officers.

There were more mutterings from more members of the crew, and Will heard one whisper about the _Black Pearl_. These people had heard of him alright.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. I do own a cat.

This chapter is short, I know. Due to school and A.D. it'll take longer to get these chapters out.

Chapter 3

Elizabeth looked around the inn's large dining room. Still no sign of Will. He was nearly three hours late. Hopefully he had just lost track of time.

Although she tried to reassure herself, Elizabeth felt her heart beat faster every time a messenger ran in. Each time it grew hard to breath whenever anyone approached her in a solemn mood. Her greatest fear had been London streets at night, and now her husband was out there alone. She worried that someone would tell her that there was an accident or other ill news of Will.

At the same time that she feared the messengers, she awaited each one eagerly. There was the chance that Will had sent her a message to explain himself before arriving later. Hopefully it wouldn't get too late. Their ship for Port Royal left in the morning. So some letter would arrive soon, Elizabeth reassured herself.

Little did she know how long it would be before she would hear from Will.

"You'll receive all your supplies from Mr. Dane. A mess kit and clothes befitting your rank. These expenses will be taken from your first salary. Anything else purchased from Mr. Dane will also be taken from your account. Is that clear?"

There were grumbled responses from the newest members of the crew. Captain Moyer repeated the question until he heard loud "Yes, sir!" from the men. Most of the surly looking group had looks of contempt fixed on the captain. Will just kept his gaze low, deep in thought. How much would parchment take from his salary? Stamps? Envelopes? He had to let Elizabeth know what had happened to him.

It was an odd bunch assembled. None were there by choice. Two groups had been brought by the press gang. One came earlier. The captain was giving the tour now that everyone was present. Most were the pressed men, but there were one or two boys that were to be powder monkeys.

"Until you get yourself a hammock, you will sleep on the floor. However, there are a few open bunks that I am aware of. Your division leader will inform you of your duties. Dismissed!" As the men walked below deck, Moyer scanned them with sharp eyes. His gaze met Will's, and there was an unspoken connection. Will went over to him. The captain was staring at the sea when he started talking.

"Are you of relation to the pirate known as Bootstrap Bill Turner?"

"I am his son, sir."

"Then you are the same Will Turner that was in the whole _Black Pearl_ fiasco," the captain smirked, still not looking at Will.

"Yes, sir."

"This ship has been in the water for five years. It has grown a reputation in that time as the _Un-_Jolly Roger. When we fight pirates, you will not dessert? You will kill pirates in the name of your country, against your blood?"

"I am not my father, sir," Will insisted. He knew that well enough, although Jack Sparrow might claim otherwise. "Despite my past actions," he added sheepishly.

"Good. I know what it's like to be judged by blood." Moyer turned, facing him for the first time. "Good night." And the captain walked away, leaving Will very confused.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. But that doesn't stop me from loving it!

If you want to know why this took so bloody long, think school. Which I love.

Language here.

Chapter 4

Will looked around the ship. There was no denying the beauty of a sunrise at sea. But it would be better if he had wanted this. Better if Elizabeth was at his side, instead of a giant of a man called Little John. On Will's other side was Joshua Clark, the other man pressed with him. He remembered the conversation the two had before the curfew was called.

"You're a sword fighter" Josh, as he insisted on being called, asked.

"Yes. I've trained for a long time, ever since I was apprenticed to a blacksmith."

"Are you the same Will Turner as in the stories?" _So much for casually touching the subject._

"Depends. You may be thinking of my father, Bill."

"Ha! So you are the Turner bloke involved with that pirate, what was his name? Swallow, or pigeon…?"

"Sparrow. Jack Sparrow." Josh grinned. Will was rather confused by this. (Insert Orlando Bloom with sweet, confused look)

"We have something in common. I happen to know Mister Sparrow. I had to test you first."

"Why?" Josh simply shrugged.

"Many men lie about their identities to gain free drinks at the bar. I've known plenty of lads pretending to be Turner with the hopes of ale." The two continued talking for a while, until a midshipman began organizing the men into bunks. Will remembered what he had wanted to ask.

"Are _you_ a swordfighter, or was that a bluff?"

"'Course I'm a trainer. I'm just used to fencing. Thought they'd give me up when I'd lose to you. But now I see that you might have beaten me fairly had we fought. It would be interesting though."

"Why?"

"I've never crossed swords with another pirate before."

For a while Will had wondered at the meaning of his words, but he was distracted now. Little John was to teach him and Josh in the ways of the ship. They would be given positions and taught to fight with bayonets and muskets. They would be drilled in firing cannons. The had to learn the Articles of War, and memorize them. By the end of the week they were to be perfect sailors.

Will managed to pick things up much faster than the other men. Sailing was in his blood. He couldn't help it. The only other two pressed that were having any progress was Gregory Fredrick and Josh.

Gregory was once a mate on a merchant vessel, but had given up sailing after privateer ship from London mistook their ship for a French one. The incident had cost him his brother, and he never desired to go to sea. Until he and Benjamin Seymour had gone for a night on the town, ending in their being taken to the _Dragonfly._

The other man brought with their group had belonged to the gang, and was greatly scorned by the nine captives. He was Roger, and had managed to become an assistant chef. This position saved him from the angry sailors, who would have their rations cut if anything foul happened to cooks.

In the mess hall Ben and Gregory sat down next to Will and Josh. It was obvious these two were already close friends.

"It's a shame that they can do this to proper citizens. I have a good job and a lass on the land," Gregory complained. Ben rolled his eyes, having to put up with his counterpart for a good twelve hours of bickering. By appearance the two were polar opposites. Ben was rather tall with broad shoulders where Greg was slight and even wiry. It also seemed that, along with a short temper, Gregory was the smarter of the pair.

"They should simply take the bums off the street. Then there would be less beggars on the street, and the men would get decent jobs and fed everyday and paid. The latter of those are the only reason I ain't deserting right 'bout now." At that moment, Roger was unfortunate enough to pass the angry man.

"You! Why don't those gangs of yours take the needy, the ones that could use the food?" The man shrank under Greg's angry eyes, but he held his ground.

"We used to take the bums, but they grouped together and would throw one helluva fight. So we took the drunks lying about. Or the injured," Roger added, rubbing his head where Josh had hit him. While he glowered Josh simply smiled as if it were a compliment. Greg wasn't so merry.

"Turner and Clark didn't look too drunk. And I was quite sober myself. I was helping Benny home when you bastards grabbed us." Will watched as tempers flared, but each side backed down. Greg wouldn't risk loosing the rations for the whole crew, and Roger didn't want to have the whole crew attack him. But Gregory made the mistake of letting one more comment slip.

"Are you part dog? Because your mother must have been a bitch." Roger lost it, and there was an all out brawl in seconds. Josh motioned to Will for them to get out of the action. Anyone with so much as one bruise or a single drop of blood on their uniform would be severely punished. They managed to make it out moments before Captain Moyer himself entered the hall and began yelling. One or two other crew members that had gotten out were gathered around the doorways, trying to hear the captain's punishments.

Will and Josh headed to the deck to report to their watch when two small boys appeared in front of them. They appeared to be around eleven, and their clothes were little more than rags. Ship's boys. One had curly black hair and deep blue eyes while the other had fair red hair and green eyes. Both were looking at their bare feet, shuffling nervously.

"Are you the swordfighters?" the redhead asked, is voice still high. The men just stared, unsure of what was going on.

"It is you twos, right? We, um, want to, um, see you fight," the one with black hair said, his face growing redder by the second. Josh and Will exchanged a glance, and Josh shrugged.

"Why not, there is supposed to be sword training anyway."

Feel free to R&R or make requests, I.e. names.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own POTC. But I do own some books.

I know, I know. I took a long time. But I prefer quantity and quality.

Chapter 5

Josh and Will began circling each other. The ship's boy's all climbed into the rigging, watching with eager eyes. A few of the crew not being punished in the mess hall watched with some interest as well. The two boys, Alex and Artie, had given both of them swords, and since both were of the same bad quality, the fight was more fair than the first would have been.

Josh decided to make the first move. He made a quick jab, which Will parried with ease. He could tell that Josh was warming up, trying to see just how good his opponent was. Then he would devise a plan. But Will already had one.

On the next jab, he allowed for the blade to almost catch his sleeve. He grimaced, as if unsure of his movements. Josh's eyes were on him, carefully calculating. All the sword master needed was an opportune moment. And Will would give him one. But then he noticed something. A few more men had come on deck. That meant that the captain and Bo' Sun were almost through with their punishments. The fight had to end before that. But they could still have a good show.

Will blocked another attack, this one surprisingly ferocious. Again, another test. Will dodged, and suddenly he stumbled, his left ankle seeming to roll against his movements. Josh saw it, and lashed out, the swords glinting in the sunlight. For a moment there was a blinding flash, and when the crew took their hands from their eyes, one sword was at a man's throat, signaling the end of the match. Man let out hoots and cheers. Few realized what had happened.

At the last moment, Will had pivoted to the right, and twisted behind the surprised Mr. Clark. As the swords were returned to the disgruntled Marines, Josh shook Will's hand to show that it had been a practice fight, not one of revenge.

"My, my. I thought I was observing you when it was the opposite. Very clever. Next time you won't fool me in such a way," he joked.

"Yes, I'll have to be much more clever in deceiving you," Will laughed. His voice caught in his throat as the whole deck grew quiet. Captain Moyer came out of the door, followed by the Bo' Sun and two men. One was Roger and the other was Gregory Fredrick. Both were quite pale. The captain cleared his throat.

"I want to make it known that there should be no fighting amongst my crew." All eyes turned to Josh and Will, then back to Moyer, secret smiles on every face. "And these two will be the examples set for the rest of you!" He nodded at the Bo' Sun, who drew out a Nine Tails. The quiet seemed to stiffen. No sailor ever wanted to test the wrath of the whip. But then Moyer smiled.

"If either of these men so much as looks at each other with anything less than motherly love, you are to report it immediately. I will not have my ship divided by those that will one day depend on each other for their lives. When we are in battle, it is everyman for the ship. The punishment for theses quarrels will be," he paused, "will be to be tied at the arm and leg to your 'enemy'. And you must do each other's rounds for a full day. Mr. Dane, the rope please."

Mr. Dane came bobbing over, and went to work with the Bo' Sun to tie Roger and Greg together. The two tried to lean apart, but the lines were tightened until they looking like one very wide man with two heads and three legs. Moyer laughed at the spectacle, which broke the tension. Soon all were laughing, except for Greg and Roger, who seemed to want to vomit at the sight of each other and their close proximity.


End file.
